Men are not afraid of hard times, they're afraid of having no direction.
That's why the Paratu People need a bridge, even though Sekler has already sent messengers across the river seeking help.
Building a bridge is not just for "crossing the river," but also to inject hope into every soldier in the army.
There is nothing in the world more desperate than a dead end.
The indifferent Styx looms before them, with the Paratu People having nowhere to go, no path to take.
They want to turn their heads and fight with all their might, only to find that there are no enemies--the Herders simply do not engage them in direct combat.
The White Lion is like a hunter who corners beasts on a cliff, patiently waiting for the enemy to be crushed by hunger and despair.
If the morale collapses, the Paratu People will fall apart before the rescue troops arrive to relieve them.
Centurion Montagne's bridge-building plan is very difficult, but it doesn't matter.
Because what the Paratu army urgently needs is not a bridge, but hope.
Like a drowning person clutching at a plank of wood, in the eyes of the Paratu People there are only three things now: bridge, bridge, and goddamn bridge.
Carpenters, with the sappers, shuttle through the woods, looking for suitable materials for the bridge project.
The straightest, longest pieces are marked with red paint; they will serve as bridge piles.
The next-best pieces of timber are marked with black paint and can be sawed into planks for laying the bridge deck.
As for the underdeveloped saplings and shrubs, they are all taken to be used for charcoal.
Anyone who has used a hammer and anvil is taken away, and seasoned blacksmiths like Berlion are no exception.
Jeska's squad has lost a cook--Winters has returned to eating swill, but the Paratu army has gained a master who can lead a dozen laborers.
Captured weapons are re-heated, folded, and forged anew; surplus armor is melted into molten iron and poured into sand molds.
The sole charcoal burner in the army has become a precious asset, fortunately, the trade is not hard to learn.
Apart from proposing the bridge-building plan, Winters has made another small contribution.
Adopting Winters' suggestion, the Fifth and Sixth Legions, following the model of the Third [Da Weineta] Legion that built the Guzhi Road on Red Sulfur Island, also set up a [Bridge-Building Command].
The Command is personally led by General Sekler, where all the resources available in the army are concentrated in this temporary department, which is responsible for coordinating, distributing, and directing them.
As for Winters, he just has a title at the Command but continues to work with his militia as usual.
There are many more specialized engineers and artillery officers in the army than him, so Winters refrains from giving unsolicited advice.
Inspiration is like a layer of tissue paper--he has punched a small hole in it, and the rest is for others to complete.
A small clearing has been made in the not-so-dense forest, with the militia swinging their sharp axes, working to expand the clearing.
These are the sounds of the axe blades striking tree trunks, incessant.
"Careful whoa! It's falling!" someone shouts at the top of their lungs: "It's falling!"
"It's falling!" Hearing the shouting, the militia also cry out: "It's falling!"
This is both a reminder and a way of boosting each other's spirit.
A fir tree with a crown over a dozen meters tall like a drunkard stumbling in the night, starts to lean slowly towards the clearing.
Accompanied by a teeth-gritting "creak," the fir tree falls faster and faster until it crashes to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Three militiamen carrying axes come over to start clearing the branches from the fir tree.
Eventually, only the clean trunk of the fir tree will be left, to be hauled to the main camp by specialized wagons.
A dozen meters in height is nothing for towering trees, but on the plains, it's a rare piece of timber.
After the fir tree hits the ground, the "thud thud" of chopping resumes.
Chopping trees is extremely strenuous work, not for the weak.
After a day's work, the militiamen's shoulders will swell up the next day.
It would be somewhat easier with saws, but the army is in short supply of saws, so the axe remains the main tool for logging.
The rapid "clatter clatter" of galloping grows closer, and a green-plumed cavalryman rides into the logging site.
The militiamen in the woods, all focused on their tasks, pay no mind to this messenger.
Having looked around and not finding any officers, the messenger calls out loudly, "Centurion Montaigne? Is Centurion Montaigne here?"
"Could he be slacking off somewhere?" Disappointed, the messenger can't help but feel scornful: "What Blood Wolf? He's nothing special."
As the Paratu People pour their effort into the bridge-building project, the reputation of the "Blood Wolf," who proposed the plan, has spread through the entire army.
All Paratu soldiers have heard of this Champion Centurion's dubious "glorious deeds" and are eager to witness the true face of the Blood Wolf.
This messenger, too, fought for the chance to deliver orders to the Blood Wolf.
The sounds of chopping drown out the messenger's calling, and he is ignored.
He rides to the edge of the clearing, hoping to find someone to speak to. Google seaʀᴄh NoveI~Fire.net
The messenger's eye catches a tall militiaman right away.
That man stands a head taller than most, dressed in a rough cotton garments, dealing with an oak tree.
He lifts his axe high and brings it down with force.
Each time the blade splits the tree, the thick oak trembles violently.
Even though it's the chilly winter, billows of white steam rise like boiling water from the man's sleeves and collar.
The messenger walks up to the tall militiaman and asks impatiently, "Hey! Where's your centurion, Blood Wolf?"
The tall militiaman sets down his axe and counters, "What do you want with him?"
The messenger snaps, "Are you qualified to inquire about military affairs? Take me to him!"
"Blood Wolf, never seen him." The tall militiaman pulls out a towel from his belt to wipe his face and says slowly, "Winters Montagne, that's me."